


if I can grant you peace of mind

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista)



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lap Sex, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Possible Light Book Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee
Summary: Eros haunts Holden. Naomi finds a way to help him rest, even in the face of her own demons.





	if I can grant you peace of mind

**Author's Note:**

> This has been yet another work that took me a few to many months to write. I'm a sucker for the intimacy of lap sex, and Holden's trauma and fears likely don't let him sleep through the night, so I combined these two thoughts into one fic, and worked in Naomi's own history, fears, and guilt. I just... really love Naomi and Holden a lot.
> 
> Smut isn't my strong suit, which is funny considering almost all my most complete ideas involve smut. Alas. Shoutout to Silver_89 for looking it over for 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please review if you can, and enjoy!

A sharp gasp and a hand grasping at Naomi’s thigh startles her into wakefulness. She pauses, staring at the back of their bunk and listening to the harsh breathing behind her. For a moment she’s not sure who it is or where she is, and her heart hammers in her chest. Is it anger? Frustration? What’s wrong with him now? Will he take it out on her again?

 

But her bleary gaze catches “MCRN” brightening on the screen above her, and she remembers where she is. Who she’s with. She reaches down to brush her fingers against his hand. There’s a hitch in his breathing, and he goes quiet. Holding it in.

 

“Jim? You okay?”

 

“I—” He stops, sighs. Pulls his hand away. “Yeah. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

 

His flat tone and hoarse voice are unconvincing. Naomi rolls over. He’s sat up, the curve of his back barely lit by the screen. Sweat shines on his pale skin. He rubs at his eyes with one hand, the one that had grabbed her clenched in a fist. He's trembling.

 

Naomi's known his claims to being “okay” after Eros were likely exaggerated. Hell, she barely holds it together most days, and she hadn’t seen what he had. Didn't nearly die there with the population. She's gotten to know a lot about him over the last month or so. Since the _Cant_ went down. Since the _Donnager_ when down. Since Eros. Since they started bunking together. There's one thing that's become plain to her in all this time. Unlike her, Jim’s a terrible liar.

 

With a soft hum, Naomi shifts. She sits up, adjusting Jim’s too-large shirt on her narrower frame before the collar can stretch over her shoulder. She leans against him. Wraps her own hand around his fist. He flinches.

 

“Hey,” Naomi whispers, kissing his shoulder. His skin is cool beneath her lips. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

 

Jim takes a few long breaths. She waits, watching his furrowed brow and parted lips. She trails her fingertips up and down the inside of his forearm. It takes just long enough to make her stop worrying for him to start to come back to her. His hand relaxes under hers. She laces their fingers together. He squeezes.

 

“I had a nightmare,” Jim mumbles.

 

Naomi hums. She had figured as much. She’s slept beside him for weeks now. Sometimes she’s woken to a moment of thrashing, an exclamation of varying volume, barked orders, an empty bed and cabin, or Jim already hard at work at the desk, two coffees deep. The lights on the _Roci_ do nothing to hide the shadows under his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Maybe not sleeping at all. Jim is chatty, especially when it comes to feelings. It’s when he’s too quiet that one should be concerned. He hadn’t wanted to talk about what was going on when she’d pressed him about it.

 

Knowing he does now takes a weight off her shoulders she didn’t know she’d been carrying.

 

She presses her lips to his skin again, brushes her nose against the same spot. He sags just a touch more. “About what?” She keeps her voice low. Strokes his thumb with hers.

 

Jim sighs again. Aside from the hum of the ship, the only sound in the cabin is their steady breathing. “The, uh…” His voice is thick. He clears his throat and tries again. “The protomolecule. It’s almost all I dream about anymore. Sometimes I wake up thinking I’m still on Eros.”

 

Of course. Of all the things they’ve seen in the last few weeks, the protomolecule andEros have tormented him most. Kept him up late, kept him fighting with everyone. Including her. Forced her to keep secrets and weave deceptions far more divisive than almost all the ones before. Naomi shifts, moving a hand to his back. It’s sticky with drying sweat.

 

“Tell me about it?”

 

Jim stiffens again under her hands. She just runs her nails up and down his back, continues to stroke his thumb. He lets out a long breath.

 

“They… stopped. Or… happened less. For a while. Once we got rid of the sample, I guess,” he whispers, running his thumb along her index finger. Naomi’s grip on his hand tightens. For more than one reason. “But since Cortazar, they just…” He sighs. “It was about you. You stayed with me on Eros. You never left. It infected you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it. Any of it.” The words rush out of him almost all at once. As if saying one releases the rest as a cascade. His voice shakes on the last words. “I couldn’t do anything.”

 

Ah. There it is. The absolute heart of everything that bothers her Jim. An inability to do anything. An inability to help or save or be of use. An inability to be who he wants to be: someone who can and wants to help. But she knows it goes deeper here. He couldn’t help a member of his crew. He couldn’t help _her_. His XO. Partner. _Lover_.

 

Jim trembles against her, likely reliving whatever he’d seen in his nightmare. Eros haunts him in too many ways to count. In the metaphorical light of day, he can shove it down. Distract himself with work and meetings and repairs and his crew. But when night cycle hits and he’s dragged into bed… what does he have to protect himself?

 

Her. He has _her_.

 

“Jim.” His gaze doesn’t lift from his lap, his jaw clenching. She sighs, shifts onto her knees and uses his shoulder as leverage as she straddles his thighs. His eyes snap to her face then, wild and tired and confused and so damn _pained_ in the weak light of their wall screen. It hits her like rubber bullet in the chest. She hadn’t questioned him further when he’d said he was okay. She should have. She _should_ have. Because he so _isn’t_ okay. Knowing that the protomolecule is on Ganymede, thinking she’d destroyed their sample...

 

Naomi frames his face with her hands, long fingers brushing the soft, damp edges of his hairline. She leans in to press her forehead to his. She listens to him breathe, feels him calm under her touch. She holds his gaze. For a moment, she’s outside the _Roci_ , holding onto his vac suit as she asks him if he can hear her. Has it really been weeks? Sometimes it feels like only hours.

 

“ _Jim,_ ” Naomi whispers, watching his own eyes flutter closed. She strokes his cheeks, the rough scratch of stubble scraping against the pads of her thumbs. “I’m _here_. I’m okay. You don’t have to do _anything_ , honey.”

 

“I—” His brows draw together, and he clears his throat. She waits, keeps petting him. The final vestiges of tension melt away by the time he opens his eyes, which are similarly clear of their earlier darkness and shine of tears. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

Naomi smiles at him, and when he grins back—it’s weak and unsure but it’s a _grin_ and she sees her Jim in there again—some of the weight on her chest lifts. Her eyes fall on the curve of his lips. She shifts her hand to brush her thumb along it. Jim blinks up at her. There are only a few things that will distract Jim from something bothering him, even for a moment. Coffee, would be one.

 

She, Naomi, would be another. She, Naomi, could distract him. This beautiful man gazing up at her like… like she could _save_ him… why _wouldn’t_ she want to kiss him? Kiss him hard enough he forgets the nightmares and she gets his lips on hers. Atone for the sins he knows nothing about.

 

It’s a win-win.

 

Naomi tips his head up and presses her lips to his. He hums into the kiss—in pleasure, surprise, she couldn’t say—and his grip on her waist tightens. She presses her chest against his, relishing in the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt to her. He deepens the kiss with what little leverage he has. Heat pools in Naomi’s belly and her breath catches.

 

Despite their state of dress, they hadn’t had sex. They’d both been too tired when they’d retired to Jim’s cabin for the night, and any time he shows her affection now, shame—shame for lying, _only_ for lying, she’s done the _right thing_ aside from the _secrets_ —rises up in her throat enough to make any light mood sour. But Naomi has loved the feel of his soft, worn shirt against her skin from the moment she first stole it back when they started sharing a cabin. So he’d handed it to her as she’d undressed, without her asking. It had still been warm. She had felt intense affection towards him when he’d done it, swallowing the shame faster than she could feel it. The same she feels now. Just… with the added bonus of arousal.

 

Naomi’s breath hitches when Jim slides a hand up under the shirt, rough fingers skimming over bare skin. His breath catches as well; he’s likely only just realized she’s naked underneath. As much as she’d love to have him touch her all over, to be worshipped the way he _insists_ she deserves even though she can’t _possibly_ deserve it… this isn’t about her. She doesn’t want it to be. Somehow he _always_ makes it about her. What she wants or would want, what would make her melt into the mattress or cry out his name to the top of their bunk. Not this time. Naomi shifts and slips a hand into his pants.

 

Jim gasps against her lips. Naomi suppresses a proud grin as she takes him in her hand. _It’s not about me, it can’t be about me_ , she reminds herself, gently stroking him to hardness.

 

“I’m here,” she repeats, pulling his head close to touch hers again. “With you. Right now.” Naomi punctuates each sentence with a slow stroke. Jim tries to rock his hips against her hand. He trembles, whimpers. This time not because of nightmares, the protomolecule. But because of _her_. “So be _here_. With me. Right now.”

 

Jim can only hold her gaze for a moment before the sensations—her touch, her words, their closeness—become too much. He groans, his body shifting to lean closer to her. “I’m here, Naomi,” he breathes. Her heart swells. Her guilt chokes her. His hands shift to her waist again and he brushes his lips against hers.“I’m here.”

 

It’s a mad rush to tear the sheets away and get his pants and briefs pushed off. They don’t bother with her shirt—it’s not in their way. As soon as he kicks his clothes out of the bed she’s in his lap again, taking his head in her hands and kissing him. She can feel him against her, growing harder with the friction. His fingers dig into the flesh of her hips—it’s okay, _he_ won’t hurt you, he _couldn’t_ —before he moves one hand down to slip a finger, then two into her. She gasps and he kisses her back with so much desperation that it sucks the rest of her breath from her lungs.

 

She can taste his need, and feels her own stirring with every second that passes.

 

Naomi shifts, reaches between them to take him in her hand again. He pulls his own hand back. A soft whine escapes him. He won’t be waiting much longer. Their eyes meet, and the corners of Jim’s mouth twitch in a grin. Naomi resists the urge to kiss him again, instead holding his gaze as she finally gives them what they both want and sinks down onto his cock.

 

They both sigh. Naomi lets her head tip forward to rest on his. They hold. Breathe. She knows it can’t be more than a few seconds, yet it feels like hours. She breathes in the scent of him: sweat and something that reminds her of the potting soil on all the stations. Fitting for her man from down the well. It’s more pleasant than she’d ever expected. Somehow, it feels like home. Naomi blinks her eyes open. Jim’s are closed, his brow furrowed and lips parted.

 

God, if she doesn’t fall in love with him just a little bit more at the sight of it. She shoves the guilt down, and focuses on the love. Guilt later.

 

Naomi reaches up to cup his jaw, run her thumb over his lower lip. Jim shudders. His eyes flutter open and find hers again. Where the fear and pain once was, desire and calm and something like _love_ have settled in. The latter thought makes her heart skip a beat, but the first two assure her that _her_ Jim is really with her. So she buries her hand in his hair and pulls him into another kiss as she starts to rock her hips.

 

There’s no hurry. They’re both tired. Both comfortable. Both craving the intimacy more than the satisfaction. So Naomi takes her time, hips moving languidly in Jim’s lap as she swallows every one of his gasps. One of his hands finds its way under the shirt and spreads across her back. He doesn’t lean back to get better leverage to move himself. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t force her to move faster or or harder than she is, seeking his own satisfaction. He lets her control every single motion. He has no idea how important that is to her.

 

As smart as everyone says Naomi is, as smart as she _knows_ she is, she’s had moments where her heart managed to convince her to do things that _weren’t_ smart. She’d loved someone who only sought to use her—For her brain? Her body? Did it matter which?—and mistook his possessiveness for protectiveness. He’d twisted her attraction and desire for intimacy into a tool to reach his own horrifying goals. He’d given her something beautiful, _irreplaceable_ … and took it away when she’d protested. He’d controlled her, in a way _still_ controls her. Her freedom, as hard won as it had been, rarely feels safe even years later.

 

Warmth spreads through Naomi’s belly, deliciously slow. This is Naomi’s favorite way to have Jim. He’s not focused on making her feel or making everything he does about _her_. She’d never argue against his drawn out foreplay or his lingering looks and touches, evolved from the early days of proving himself as an excellent partner to the show of affection they’ve become. She loves them too. Loves the slow tease of his fingers over her collarbone, her side, her thighs. Loves his teeth dragging down her neck. Everything he does to stoke a fire inside of her until she’s begging him to get inside of her or push her over the edge.

 

There’s just something about Jim giving her complete control over them and _him_ that makes her melt. Something about his control handed so completely over to her that makes her heart skip a beat.

 

With Jim, she’s never felt used. She’s always been shown respect and consideration. When he does something to protect her, it isn’t because he feels he owns her. Their mutual attraction had been an—inevitable—surprise, and true intimacy came so quickly and so naturally that Naomi wonders if their coupling is meant to be. Jim is so open, so honest and vulnerable. He’s completely genuine in his intentions. He’s given her something delicate and _new._ And he makes her feel _safe_ again. As scared as she is of what could come of what she’s done… she feels safer than she ever has.

 

Jim’s little sounds get louder and more desperate, dragging her from her thoughts as his fingers dig into her back. The heat inside her, on the other hand, has nearly flatlined, smoldering rather than building in a crescendo. It still feels so, _so_ good. It just isn’t _going_ anywhere. _That’s not why you’re doing this, Naomi_. She shifts her focus, pushing through the ache in her thighs from the effort of moving, intent on giving Jim the release he’s chasing.

 

But of course, Jim notices the shift. He doesn’t notice everything, but of course he notices this.

 

The hand still on her hip trails up slightly, fingertips drawing shivers out of her. He slips it between them and Naomi catches his wrist before his fingers can reach their destination. A deep part of her is _pained_ at her restraint. But this isn’t for her. Jim blinks up at her, confusion mixed in the fog of arousal.

 

“Naomi, you—”

 

Naomi cuts him off with a kiss, moving his hand back to her hip. “ _Relax_ , honey.”

 

“But—”

 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, brushing her nose along his. “It’s okay.”

 

And it is. This isn’t about her. She doesn’t _want_ it to be. _Let me take care of you. Be selfish for_ once _. I can’t let you make this about me, Jim_. He gazes up at her, eyes searching her face and mouth opening as if he’s going to say something. She brings her hand up to cup his jaw and his eyelids flutter. He sighs, a soft stunned sound. Giving in. She kisses him again, slow and deep, and rocks against him with renewed vigor.

 

Jim chokes out a curse against her lips. He puts forth a valiant effort into keeping up with her, trying to breathe and kiss and move. When he breaks away from her lips and buries his face in her neck, she doesn’t chase him. She holds him to her, slipping her hand back in his hair, wrapping her other arm around him. Even as she continues to move, she wants to hold him close. His scruff rasps against her collarbone and his breath ghosts against _that_ spot behind her ear with every sigh. She shivers. Jim whimpers into her skin and Naomi clutches him tighter. It makes it a touch harder to keep rocking over him, but she manages it.

 

She wants to protect him. To chase his demons away and shield him against their return. If only for tonight because who knows what the system will throw at them next. What it will thrust upon James Holden’s strong, broad shoulders. Threatening to knock him down. Break him. She’s terrified it will be the one thing she couldn’t do that does it.

 

She has another chance. She’s risking _so much_ of herself to keep it. To keep this. Jim is so busy trying to help everyone, protect everyone, _save_ everyone—including her, Alex, Amos—that he forgets to do the same for himself.

 

Jim doesn’t realize how much Naomi really needs him. She’s never told him. Doesn’t plan to. But if he won’t keep himself protected, safe, _alive_ for her, she has to. She _will_.

 

Jim breathes her name into her ear, blunt nails digging into her back. His weak movements become more erratic, and his tiny sounds come with more frequency and urgency.

Naomi presses a kiss to the side of his head, nuzzles his hair, shifts her weight to move more languidly over him. He gasps.

 

 _Let go, Jim_ , she projects. Her mind makes it a mantra. A prayer. _I’ve got you. I’m here. Let go._

 

And with one last choked curse, a soft groan of her name… he _does._ Jim comes undone in her arms, his own grip on her tightening as his orgasm courses through him. Naomi works him through it, whispers encouragements in his ear. She doesn’t stop moving until he finally relaxes into her. He rests his head on her shoulder and tries to catch his breath.

 

Naomi waits for him. Pets his hair and waits for her own breath to even out. Her core aches from the absence of her own completion—so _close_ , too—but her thighs and her heart are completely satisfied with her decision. _This wasn’t for me. This was for him. It’s okay. It is._

 

And it is.

 

After long minutes of near silence, Jim hums into her neck, long and low. Naomi smiles.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he mumbles, thumb brushing over her hip. “Can still help you along, if you’ll let me.”

 

Naomi doesn’t even think about it. “Not this time. Make it up to me later.”

 

Jim finally straightens, eyes dreamy and brows drawn together. She lifts a hand to smooth the crease between them. He closes his eyes and relaxes with a soft laugh.

 

“You know I’m good for it.”

 

“I do. I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake up with your hand between my thighs.” He snorts as she leans in to kiss his forehead. “Better?”

 

Jim hums again. “The protomolecule couldn’t be further from my mind.” The words come out a purr, with a lightness she’s pleased he can manage, even as her own heart sinks. He leans back to meet her eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Thank you. Really.”

 

“Thank _you_ for opening up to me.” Naomi brushes her thumb over his cheek. He leans into her touch. “I know you haven’t been sleeping well, Jim. If at all. And I’m glad you could finally let me inside that incredibly thick skull of yours.”

 

His smile widens. “I’ll keep that in mind. Especially if it ends with you in my lap again.”

 

Naomi leans in, humming herself. “Who says every moment of vulnerability will end up with me in your lap? It took a _lot_ of effort, pain, _sacrifice—”_

 

“Point taken, point taken,” he laughs, tipping his chin up and kissing her so sweetly her toes curl. When he pulls away, he looks apologetic. “We should _really_ get back to sleep though. I refuse to face Fred with anything less than four hours.”

 

Naomi kisses his nose. “Understood, Captain.”

 

They separate, each sighing with some sort of emotion neither is awake enough to discuss. Naomi ducks out quickly to clean up, grabbing a towel for Jim while she’s in the showers. He’s nearly dozed off by the time she gets back—but he’d managed to find his pants and drag them into bed at least. He wakes up enough to pull her into bed with him, kissing her lazily as she helps him clean up and dress.

 

They shuffle around in the bunk, figuring out what’s comfortable and grumbling about elbows and knees. When they’ve finally settled, Naomi is on her back, Jim curled up against and half on top of her side. He’s always been floppy and overly affectionate. When he’s very tired,very drunk, or _very_ satisfied, it seems like he can’t even control it. It’s endearing. Adorable. And it gives her the chance to hold him. Her left arm is around his shoulder, hand free to stroke his hair. To soothe him back to sleep.

 

Her other hand twines with his.

 

Jim hums into her neck, squeezes her fingers. “You’re amazing, you know that?” His words are the slur of fading wakefulness.

 

Naomi smiles up at the top of their bunk, watching the MCRN logo spin, dimming as their movements slow. Emotions swell in her chest. She focuses on the good ones. “Granted.”— _You don’t know Jim, you don’t_ know _—_ ”How do you mean?”

 

“Y’know…” He nuzzles her skin, tickling her. She resists the urge to flinch away from it and laugh. Like nothing’s wrong. “I woke you up… you did… _that_... “ They both laugh then—Naomi, a soft breath of air, Jim, a rumble deep in his throat. “And you kept me from returning the favor. You took care of me.”

 

“I did.” The emotion shifts, waking something older. Something more instinctual. Something Naomi had _tried_ not to feel in a very long time that swells above the good and the bad emotions that swirl inside her. “I did it because I love you.” It sounds like an apology.

 

Jim smiles against her skin. “I love you, too.”

 

Naomi kisses his hair, taking a small bit of pride in the fact that the sweat that dampens it now is from something better for him than nightmares. Flashbacks. Trauma.

 

Fear of what’s to come.

 

They both grow quiet, Jim’s breathing not quite that of sleep, but nearing it. Naomi’s eyes shift to the door. Their little world, this cocoon of comfort and warmth, ends there. The system and every horrible thing it holds waits out there for them to leave. The truth of what’s become of their sample. The mystery of Ganymede. Something clicks in her head then.

 

Jim always sleeps on the outer edge of their bunk. Whether she’s sleeping on him as he sleeps now, or pulled back against him or even when he’s pulled up against _her…_ he’s _always_ between her and the door. As if the next thing that bursts though it will have to go through him first to get to her. _It’s_ my _fault. You were only there because of me_. _This crew is depending on me. You put your lives in my hands… I’m okay._

 

Jim has been protecting them since the _Knight_. He’s never stopped. Even when he _sleeps_ , he’s protecting her. Naomi bites her lip.

 

How fitting then, that she’s between him and the door this time.

 

He might not sleep through the night until every bit of protomolecule is wiped from the system. It’s a thought that terrifies her as much as it reassures her. Yes, he’s determined to keep everyone safe from what he saw on Eros. What he almost died escaping. But deep down she knows… they’d _never_ agree on what to do with their sample. The _one_ thing Jim could control. That she now controls.

 

His drive to protect them, to protect _her_ , from the protomolecule could be the same thing that drives them apart. Once he finds out. She can’t keep it from him forever, the way he looks at her. The way he loves her. The way their lives have been since they left to answer that distress beacon. And that’s the _truly_ frightening part. Losing him because of something she’s done that he cannot forgive.

 

She did the right thing this time. She _did_. The thought of losing someone else she loves because of her choices still leaves a lingering ache she will never be able to bury. Never again.

 

But tonight, it doesn’t matter. Jim is safe in her arms, held close and as far away from the door—and the sample, the _pashang_ sample—as she can keep him. Protecting _him_ from the nightmares and trauma and _pain_ the system continues to offer him. The fear she’s left the door open to. Just for tonight.

 

That’s all she can promise.

 

 


End file.
